


celebration, florida

by weefaol



Series: fifty states [3]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Jared, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Forbidden Love, M/M, Murder, Possessive Behavior, Rimming, Rough Sex, Suicide, Top Jensen, Tragic Romance, more tags in notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-20 01:12:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12421944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weefaol/pseuds/weefaol
Summary: When sixteen-year-old Jared Padalecki's family moves to Celebration, a too-perfect Floridian suburb run by the Disney Corporation, he thinks life as he knows it is over. Because how could he, with his ratty Pearl Jam tee and Goosebumps book in his back pocket, ever belong here? From what he’d seen, there was no one remotely interesting in Celebration.What he didn’t know yet was that all the interesting people came out at night.





	celebration, florida

**Author's Note:**

> This is a dark love story between Jared Padalecki, sixteen and sulky, and Jensen Ackles, a gorgeous groundskeeper at twenty-nine. Set in the mid-1990s at the height of grunge rock and suburban oppression, this tale explores the darkness lurking beneath picture-perfect houses and family-friendly villages. It is based on the real-life rise and fall of [Celebration, Florida](https://www.theguardian.com/world/2010/dec/13/celebration-death-of-a-dream), a utopic American small town invented by the Disney Corporation in 1994.
> 
> This story contains disturbing elements, including an underage relationship (and sometimes dubiously consensual sex), pedophilic and predatory undertones, a romanticization of death, and brief mild instances of necrophilia, self-harm, and violence. Please heed the warnings and do not read if you are sensitive to any of the tags.
> 
> For those who want to go gently into the night with me, I hope you will be rewarded with a dark romance between two beautiful, sex-crazed boys, whose forbidden love transcends time and space. Almost like two other star-crossed lovers we know...
> 
> With them, our story begins.

_These violent delights have violent ends_  
_And in their triumph die, like fire and powder_  
_Which, as they kiss, consume._

_~ R & J_

~~~

There’s a town in south Florida, just an hour’s drive from Disney World. A town where everyone knows your name. Where streets are swept clean and people sit on front porches, waving to the neighbours.

Celebration, Florida. The happiest place on earth.

That was before the murder.

~~~

_July 22 — Thirteen nights until the murder_

Jared Padalecki sat in the backseat of a Ford Grand Caravan, head pressed lazily to the tinted window. There was plenty to see beyond the squashed bugs and asphalt dust that clung to the outside, but he made a point not to look too closely. His parents and twin step-sisters twins _oohed_ and _ahhed_ at the passing scenery as they drove through the little gate that opens up into Celebration, their final destination.

The cobblestone streets were so narrow his father had to slow the van to a crawl. Jared felt like he was stuck on the _clickety-clack_ part of an ascending roller coaster. Buckled in and chained. Just before it plummeted, he opened his eyes and his stomach dropped. Free-falling.

Outside, there were shops with perfect paint jobs, pastels and neutral palettes; window displays dressed to the nines; grocers and confectionaries and stationary shops that looked like giant doll houses, pristine and put together. Everything closed at five.

“It’s charming,” said Jared’s step-mother, gawking through the front windshield, smile plastered on.

“It’s creepy,” replied Jared. He frowned at the gleaming newspaper boxes (“A Nickel Each!”), grimaced at the lush palm trees that lined Main Street. At sixteen, he was much too old for this level of delusion. They all were.

“You’ll get used to it,” said his father, eyes darting to his in the rearview mirror. He’d changed jobs for this, found a gig as an Account Executive for the Orlando Magic. Had a spare million in the bank and decided moving to the happiest place on earth would be well worth the drop in salary. Even more well worth appeasing the new wife and kids.

Jared’s the only one who had fought him on it. In return, he’d been called an _ungrateful little shit_ between gritted teeth. Fine. It wasn’t like it was a lie. Jared hated his life, his new family, his everything.

There was a bump in the road and, at once, cobblestones turned to smooth concrete as they reached the end of Main Street. Half a mile from downtown, they turned into Yew Court, a cul-de-sac with twelve houses, like hands on a timepiece. Pulled into number five, sitting pretty at the one o’ clock spot with a colonnaded porch and neatly trimmed topiary. No carved mouse ears or loopy “Ds”, just boring bush circles. Humdrum shrubbery.

Jared got out of the car, making sure to slam the door shut in protest of it all. He gave the neighbourhood a once-over. Using one hand to cover his eyes, he squinted down the suburb, the seven o’ clock sunset burning his retinas. Took a good long look at the manicured lawns, the sidewalk flower gardens, people waving cheerily from porch swings, not a piece of trash in sight.

It made him want to puke.

Because how could he, Jared Padalecki, with his ratty Pearl Jam tee and _Goosebumps_ book in his back pocket, ever get used to this? Ever belong? From what he’d seen so far, in publicity pamphlets and passers-by, there was no one remotely interesting in Celebration.

What he didn’t know yet was that all the interesting people came out at night.

~~~

Two days in a doll’s house and Jared was clawing at the walls. Once boxes had been unpacked and posters plastered up with sticky-tack, there was quite honestly fuck-all to do. It was the height of summer in Florida and too damn hot to brood in his bedroom. Even laying stark-still, the sweat pooled on his chest in saline puddles. He’d spent a whole hour dragging his fingers through the dew, painting pornographic pictures on his belly, just to pass the time.

To put it simply, he was bored. Bored out of his skull. He’d already taken his twin sisters to _Mr. Tastee’s Ice Cream Truck_. Twice. It was impossible to avoid, what with its tinkling bells and tinny tunes, hitting the neighbourhood at least once a day. The flavours weren’t even real ice cream flavours — Cinderella Pumpkin Pie, Minnie Marshmallow, and the real kicker, Prince Charming’s Nutty Surprise. (Jared had snickered at that one. Made the ice cream man frown.)

There were other kids around, of course. Their neighbours, the Nelsons, had already come by with an extravagant gift basket and two-year-old Tommy in tow. Jared had gotten a severe talking-to from his step-mother after making fun of Tommyboy’s formal attire.

“He was wearing a bow-tie, Dad. A _bow-tie,_ ” he’d later explained. A perfectly reasonable critique. Or so he’d thought. But his father wasn’t having it — he’d sent Jared to his room. As if that wasn’t where he wanted to run to, anyway. These days, when he looked at his father, part of him still held out hope the man hadn’t lost all of his edges when he’d remarried. The other part of him knew that ship had sailed with the Fairy Tale Wedding™.

Jared spent the end of his second day in Celebration in his room with his headphones on. Full blast. Dad had gotten him an MP3 player, so he could shuffle all his friends around — Eddie, Layne, Kurt and Courtney. The only ones who really knew him. The ones who understood. Who would think this model town was bullshit too.

_No place like home._

He fell asleep early and awoke to the frenetic drums of Nirvana’s “Bleed” at three AM. He got up, stretched his bones and slipped over to the window. Looked out at the neighbourhood, the cabbage-rose colours muted in shades of grey. It was almost beautiful like this.

Every now and then a flicker of movement would catch his eye and, as he watched, he realized — there were _people_ out there. Dark shadow figures collecting street trash and pulling up weeds. Repainting and repaving. Quiet as graves.

The night shift.

Jared rubbed his eyes, watching in morbid fascination as the blurs in black coveralls darted in and out of shadows, armed with trimmers and topsoil. After a few minutes, his eyes caught onto a particularly interesting shape — a six-foot-something creature with neatly cropped hair; well-built, but soft somehow.

He was already Jared’s favourite.

Innocent minutes turned to over-keen hours and, still, Jared watched. His chosen one, the tall man who kept close to house number six, had been quietly tending to the Nelsons’ lawn — filling in divots, sprinkling grass seeds at the patchy edges, touching up the picket fence from damage done during an afternoon croquet game. He was very good at his job, Jared could tell. He was careful, meticulous, took pride in it. So much so that Jared’s blood thrummed in his veins just watching him work. Admired his patience. Was awestruck by capable hands. He wondered what they must feel like. Rough, calloused. Immaculate.

When the first glow of sunrise threw light on the sleepy suburb, Jared watched his worker tidy up. Watched him pick up the paint can and sidle along the strip of lawn between the two houses, towards the backyard. Jared tiptoed to his other bedroom window, following the man as he tucked the paint can away in a little toolshed Jared hadn’t noticed before. He felt a thrill, like he was privy to a secret, when the man ducked behind the shed and lit up a joint, smoking it slowly.

Jared licked his lips, watching the white smoke curl in and out of the man’s lungs. He wished he was out there too. Wished he was pulling the blunt to his own lips, inhaling a thick cloud to make his brain all fuzzy. He longed to open up his lungs and breathe it all in, feeling light and floaty and —

 _Shit_.

The man was staring back at him.

Jared froze. All he could do was let his mouth hang open, dumbstruck. He blinked twice.

The man was still staring. His eyes were curious, inquisitive. He took another James Dean drag. One that made Jared’s belly flip.

Jared dared to stare back. Didn’t cower. Didn’t back down. Too late to duck and cover.

Although it was only seconds that ticked by, it felt like an eternity. And, when the man slid back against the toolshed and out of sight, Jared’s feeble heart sank. He watched the smoke furl dreamily from behind the shed until it disappeared completely, along with its inhaler.

After a futile scan for movement in the bushes, along trimmed trees and pristine picket fences, Jared withdrew from the window and crawled back into bed, wide-awake and wired. He wrapped his hand around his cock and jerked himself off, slow and sentimental, imagining the taste of paint chips and pot on his tongue.

~~~

_July 24 — Eleven nights until the murder_

The next morning, he was awoken by his step-mother at exactly nine o’ clock.

“Jared, wake up,” she hummed, hunched over his sleepy shoulders, blocking out the sunlight. “We’re going to _Pancake Palace_ for breakfast.” She jiggled him once and left the room.

He groaned.

Thirty-five minutes later he was sitting in a vinyl diner booth with his mother and two sisters, grumbling into his hash browns. The furnishings were criminal — firetruck red upholstery, green and white linoleum floors, gaudy chandeliers and chipper waiters on roller-skates. All phony, all fake. Even the smiles.

The food was average. Nothing like fifty-year-old diners on city corners, or the Mom and Pop shops of small towns. Jared poured salt on everything.

“ _Mom_ , she’s looking at me funny,” whined his little sister, the annoying one.

Jared looked up from his pancakes to see his other sister, the tolerable one, making goofy faces at her twin. She rolled her eyes, a gesture their step-mother thinks she got from Jared. “Buttface tattle-tale.”

Step-mother frowned. “I don’t want to ever hear that disgusting word again.”

Jared snorted in his orange juice, covered it up with a cough. If she only knew the kinds of words he used in shitty high school poems. If she only knew the fucked up thoughts that rattled around in Jared’s brain, tucked underneath the covers, his hands full and his dick hard. Her head would explode.

_Anything to redecorate this town._

After breakfast, they spent nearly an hour at the _Day Dreams_ doll shop next door. Twice, Jared escaped to light three matches and watch them burn, scratching at his skin with the hot coals out of sheer boredom. Slid his Alice in Chains wristband down to hide the evidence. If his step-mother had any clue about his bad habits, she was too afraid to say anything.

They wasted the day away going from shop to shop in the village, exploring the quaint little downtown no one in their right mind could ever call _home_. Everything from the storm drains to the stuffed teddies was covered in the town crest, a garish drawing of a pig-tailed girl riding a bicycle with a dog in the basket. A pastoral signifier of sorts. Hearkening back to the good old days, some imagined history, where store signs bore “Ye Olde” monikers and kids played hopscotch in the streets.

Everything was artifice. The fruits and veggies piled beneath hand-cranked grocery awnings seemed to have been scoured with silver polish, buffing out the bruises, any spots or imperfections. There were no record stores, no bookshops, no Quik Stops to buy cigarettes. By some miracle, the town had a theatre, an old art deco movie palace, but it was wasted on twice daily showings of Disney cartoons. Jared grumbled.

It was a goddamn Mickey Mouse monopoly. A cult of artificiality. Where lines were long and people fell into them.

Nothing about Jared lined up properly.

~~~

That evening, they returned to Yew Court, his sisters crying and screaming from exhaustion. Mother ushered them inside quickly, waved an apology to the ancient couple across the street, watching unaffected from their porch swing. Jared watched back, wondering if getting old was as boring as it looked. Surely, he would kill himself before he ended up like those two — stone-faced and staring, faces melted and teeth rotted, tongues tied. They probably hated each other.

It was all so depressing. He couldn’t wait until dark.

Because under the cover of darkness is where he could observe the creepy-crawlies again — the night shift and the tall man in black coveralls. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach.

With a contemptuous glance at the old people, Jared rounded the corner of house number five and slinked along the fence, back toward the hidden toolshed he’d glimpsed from above. He pushed himself between two hedges and, after fighting off a thorny bramble, _there it was_ … The mythical hovel where his painter had stashed his implements the night prior.

Jared took a breath. Somehow, between the hedges, the air seemed clearer. Thinner. Easier to swallow. His heart thumped when he pulled at the padlock of the shed door, rattling it slightly. It was locked up good. Jared bit his bottom lip. He wanted closer. Wanted in.

He crept around to the back of the shed, feeling around the ground for one of those rock shaped hide-a-keys. Everything else in this town was fake, from the Celebration Coins to the plastic palm trees, so why wouldn’t the stones be? He searched and searched, but there was no key to be found.

Just when he was about to resign himself to another night of voyeurism, his fingertips nicked something hard and plastic, hidden in the grass. He held the object in his hand, fingers trembling.

It was a left-behind lighter, lime green and laced with little stoned happy faces.

 _His_.

He flicked his thumb over the igniter and watched the flame dance, a twitch at his mouth. The man left it there on purpose, he knew it. It was a gift. A promise.

Grinning, he extinguished the blaze and tucked it safely in his pocket, holding his thumb over the end as it singed.

Like a moth to a flame, Jared would burn.

~~~

Later that night, after a dismal domestic dinner (meat and potatoes), Jared retired to his room like always. This time, however, he couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t even focus on _Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness_ blaring in his ears. All he could think about were the night people and how desperately he wanted to meet someone normal. Someone strange. Someone like… _him_.

At a quarter to two, Jared sat up and slipped on his high-top sneakers. Crept down creaky stairs. Snuck out the back door and into the midnight with the rest of the misfits.

The streets were near deserted, the suburb silent save for the occasional cricket chirp. As he shuffled along, Jared wondered sadly if the crickets had little cricket houses and little cricket-fences and if everything closed at five. If the lone midnight chirp was one wandering, just like him.

The tinny sounds from his earbuds, dangling from the collar of his shirt, punctuated the queerish quiet. Meandering through streets, he became so drunk on cherub rock and stoned on lithium metal, he almost didn’t see the man. The one he nearly tripped over, the one knee deep in sidewalk flower beds. The horticulture creep. _Him_.

“ _Rape meee, my friend_.”

Jared’s ears prickled. He stopped dead in his tracks. The hum, the low voice.

The man in the garden was singing. And not just any singing — singing along with Jared’s MP3.

“ _Rape meee, again_.”

Jared had spent precious red-glow moments under sweaty bedsheets imagining what his nightcrawler sounded like. It was nothing compared to this sweet melody.

The man in the flowers caught his eye. Smiled and nodded at him with those bright green eyes, glimmering in the moonlight. They were so much prettier up close.

Jared swallowed, took a step closer. “You like Nirvana?”

The man raised an eyebrow and stood up. (And, _Jesus_ , he was tall, over six feet.) “You really asking?”

Jared shrugged, hands in his pockets. Blushed a little. Ran his eyes over the man he’d only ever seen from above — his black coveralls, steel-toed boots, soil caked under his fingernails. About twenty-nine. Green eyes, cropped hair, and grime-ridden.

Jared already liked him too much.

“I’m Jensen,” the man said, stepping forward, his voice low and somehow seductive. “Groundskeeper.”

“Jared,” he replied, shy. “I live down the street.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Jensen with a half-grin. “Picture perfect family. House number five.”

Jared blushed, kicked at the pavement with his toe until a piece came loose. “Uh-huh.”

Jensen stared, appraising him carefully. Observing and assessing. After a moment, he hummed. Narrowed his eyes and added, “But you don’t really belong there, do you?”

Jared met his eyes. They were kind and captivating. Sinister and alluring. Everything all at once. “No, I don’t.”

His toes tingled when Jensen leaned in closer, beckoned to him. He held his breath and hardened.

“No offence, kid,” he spoke low, his words unspooling, “but if anyone sees me talking to you, I’ll get shit-canned.”

“Oh,” said Jared, deflating, as if all the warmth in his chest had been sucked out through a straw.

“We’re not really supposed to be seen. Much less talk to grunge kids about _In Utero_.” His grin was like the Cheshire Cat, perfect and predatory.

“Okay, then,” Jared fumbled, “I’ll just —“ He couldn’t bring himself to say the words _go home_ , so he just trailed off and gave a perfunctory wave down the street. He sighed.

There was no way he was going back there, not when every cell in his skinny body was rooting him in place, like one of Jensen’s shrubs.

“Actually, I’ve got something of yours,” Jared offered, digging in his pocket and withdrawing the lime-green lighter. He held it out, half-heartedly. Dared him to take it.

Jensen glanced at the lighter and then back up at Jared, a smile at the corner of his mouth. He reached for it, careful to avoiding touching. Caught Jared’s eyes and got a twinkle in his own. “Wanna smoke?”

Jared nodded, his heart bouncing off his ribcage.

He followed Jensen through someone’s backyard to a gap between two sycamore trees. Got a rush when Jensen caught his eye and craftily pulled aside a loose board in the fence. He led him through the wormhole into a small thicket.

The air was clear and free of oppression.

When he was satisfied with their concealment, Jensen lit up a blunt and inhaled. He looked so beautiful, the hazy smoke curling in and out of his pouty pink lips. And he looked even _more_ beautiful looking at Jared with piercing green eyes, his thick fingers offering up the joint.

“Ever done this before?”

“Yeah,” Jared lied, taking the blunt, holding it to his lips and sucking in. He held in the smoke like he’d seen on MTV, but he wasn’t used to the way it unfurled inside his dewy lungs. He spluttered a little on the exhale.

“It’s okay,” said Jensen, grinning at him. “You get used to it.”

Jared nodded. He was used to feeling invisible, at home, at school, in Celebration. But now, under the cover of dark, earthy smoke in his lungs, he took comfort in the fact that Jensen could see right through him.

“High school?”

“Whuh?” said Jared, after a more successful hit.

“You in high school?” Jensen surveyed him, taking the joint back.

“Yeah, tenth grade,” said Jared, scuffing at the grass. “But I’m sixteen. I failed grade eight.” He looked at Jensen, who was watching him. “Not because I’m stupid, though.”

Jensen took a drag. Shook his head, breathed out the smoke. “No way you could be stupid. Ever.”

Jared’s chest swelled all warm and fuzzy. It had nothing to do with the pot.

Jensen bit his bottom lip, almost shy. “I didn’t graduate. Dropped out. But I watch a lot of movies. Good ones…”

Jared didn’t know it yet, but Jensen learned how to live from Fritz Lang and Fellini; how to love from Visconti and Van Sant. He blushed. “I like _Ghostbusters_.”

“Course you do. It’s a fuckin’ classic.”

Jared grinned. He liked anything with ghosts or gravediggers and could tell that Jensen did too. He took another long toke, let the smoke swirl around in his lungs. Exhaled smoothly. He was getting good at this.

“So,” he said, handing the joint back. “Do you sleep all day like a vampire bat?”

Jensen barked out a laugh. It echoed deep in Jared’s ears like a swan song.

They smoked in shrubbery shadows until their fingertips burned and their eyeballs vibrated. Until their voices were thick and syrupy, like sweet molasses.

“Can’t leave shit like this lying around,” said Jensen, pinching the roach and tucking it away in his pocket. “Bosses check up on that stuff. Always trying to get us in trouble.”

Jared moved closer, feeling dazed and daring. He shimmied along the hedge’s edge until he nudged his shoulder against a strong arm. He grinned,

“I’m trouble, aren’t I?”

Jensen turned his head, gazed down at him through half-lidded eyes. Licked his lips.

“Yeah, you’re trouble, alright,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “But not more trouble than you’re worth.”

Jared trailed his fingertips down Jensen’s sleeve until he felt skin. He tickled at the inside of his wrist.

“My hands are dirty,” said Jensen, as serious and as silent as a grave.

Jared smiled, smoke curling around his soul. Slid his hand down, slotting their fingers together. Blinked up at those deathly green eyes. “So are mine.”

Their first kiss was whisper bliss. Warm, easy, and quick. Like Jared’s beating heart.

~~~

_July 26 — Nine nights until the murder_

Jared was keyed up and bone-weary, a deadly combination for a teenaged shit-disturber.

It had been two days, one night, since their clandestine come-by-chance—the clasp of calloused hands, a salivary exchange of cigarette butts. A turn of the earth, twice-over, since he’d laid eyes on his lonely nightwalker, the one who prodded loose pavement and preened flower petals. If there were cemeteries in Celebration, Jensen would be the crypt-keeper.

Jared had spent the entire previous night at his bedroom window, watching and waiting for his prince, desperate for one glimpse, one wave, one smile. Nearly squished his eyeballs shut from squinting into the dark. There’d been men, as usual, ducking in and out of the shadows, drilling and digging and delivering. But none with the bow-legged gait Jared had fondly regarded while following on his heels, the night prior.

At five in the morning, he’d fallen asleep on the sill, dreaming of silken lips and sticky fingers. Slept until noon, twisted in his bedsheets, hot and bothered in the streaming sun. He rutted, half-hearted, against the mattress until he spilled pollen, a dewy patch blooming on his shorts.

Soaking in the light of day. Smouldering.

The hours, the _minutes_ , dragged by. And Jared’s lungs hurt from holding baited breath. He spent the sweltering afternoon scouring Main Street, seeking out green eyes and freckled fingers. It was all he could do to pass the time. There was no squashed gum on the pavement to count.

Downtown, the Good Place, was ungodly. A Stepford simulation, only the wives weren’t models. They were weird and ugly, wore creepy smiles and creepier clothes. Fanny packs and scrunchies. Nothing like the leather-bound city chicks, who gave no fucks and flipped dudes off. Jared respected city girls. These suburban soccer moms could get bent for all he cared.

It was a manufactured landscape. A Mickey Mouse menagerie, from the 1940s _muzak_ played on street corners to the “DO NOT PET THE ALLIGATORS” sign by the fake pond. Two nights ago, he’d heard from a reliable source, one with keys to all the buildings and a non-disclosure contract, that the fake pond became a fake ice rink in the winter, covered over with silver glass. And every night, at the top of the hour, a light sprinkle of shaving cream snow would blanket the town.

It was surreal; an unreality. It was making Jared paranoid. More than usual, he felt like the only black sheep in a flock of Disney freaks. Except at night, when everything turned to black and blue.

That’s when Jared felt most alive.

~~~

_Tick. Tick._

It was the dead of night—a Thursday, to be specific—and something stirred in the hollows of Jared’s ears. A little _ping_. Or was it a _rap_?

_Tick._

He blinked open his eyes, let them adjust in the dark. Watched the moonlight stream through his side window.

_Tick._

_A-ha, that’s it._

A small pebble nicked against the glass. Abruptly awake, Jared threw off the covers and tiptoed to the window, staring down into the space between the houses.

His heart skipped a beat.

Jensen was standing there in street clothes — jeans and a black Joy Division tee, hair slightly rumpled. He was smiling, radiant. Nodded his head to the side, beckoning Jared to him.

Jared’s cock twitched. He would always come for Jensen.

After throwing on clothes that weren’t too smelly and half-lacing his Converse shoes, he slipped out the back door of number five.

Jensen was waiting for him, looking at once as pretty as a peach and dangerous as a knife’s edge. The most perfect predator. The kind that took their time, lured you in and groomed you pretty before pressing a heavy hand to your airway, grinning with asphyxiation, whispering little _I told you sos_.

Jared knew this, but he still walked willingly into the tiger’s maw. Anything to get closer. Because the closer he was to Jensen, the closer he was to death. And it made him feel alive.

“It’s my night off,” said Jensen, half-smiling at the boy already at his beck and call. “I wanted to show you something. Wanna see?”

_God, he was beautiful._

Jared swallowed and choked out a stuttered, “Y-yeah,” low and breathy, at the completely mercy of Jensen’s cocked brow and cocksucker lips.

Jensen grinned. _Hook, line, and sinker._ He stepped closer and pulled Jared’s hood up over his head, obscuring his face. “Come with me.”

They walked through the suburbs to the downtown, the streets deserted save for the occasional night worker, filling in cracks or changing olde world lantern bulbs. Some ignored them, some gave Jensen a wave, and some whispered friendly _Hey, man, whatchu doins_ or _Who ya got theres_? It gave Jared a rush when Jensen placed a hand on his hood-covered head, tussled him, and answered back, “My little brother’s in town.”

And when the night-crawlers turned back to their paint jobs, Jensen would squeeze Jared’s shoulders, lean down and whisper in his ear, “ _Little brother…_ ”

It was hard to walk straight with a raging seven-incher.

Eventually, Jensen led him down an alleyway between two downtown shops, past the trash bins and beyond the wire-cut hole in the fence, to a door that read “Employees Only.” He procured a key from the ring in his pocket and opened it up.

“Come on,” he said, with a quirked brow and a half-smile, leading Jared inside. Shut the door behind and pitched them into darkness.

He felt Jensen grab his hand in the black and let himself be tugged forward, his arm trailing along the wall, eyes blinking into the abyss. He couldn’t see shit, just allowed himself be blindly pulled along, up three sticky stairs, through a door, and down a gentle slope.

Jensen turned to him in the dark, stopping them short, his warm breath ghosting on Jared’s lips. “Wait here,” he said and guided Jared down into a chair. “Be right back.”

He breathed in the dark, feeling an anxious weight on his chest, but an exhilaration nonetheless. He blinked his eyes as they began to adjust, stark blacks turning to dull greys. Heard a few clicks and a _whrrrrr_ in the silence, footsteps here and there.

All of a sudden, a splash of white light blinded him. A giant screen lit up, brilliant and bright, flashing with film frames. A countdown from ten to _blip_ splashed across the screen, followed by the title card for Kenneth Anger’s _Scorpio Rising_. Jared’s face lit up, strobes of light dancing on his skin.

Jensen rejoined him in the next seat over, put his arm around Jared’s bird-thin shoulders and squeezed him once. “Got the whole place to ourselves.”

The movie palace was beautiful and old and not as gaudy as it looked during the day, when kiddie cartoons played on loop. This was different. This was _real_. There were celestial bodies floating on the screen and a warm one beside him, all promises of a life he couldn’t have imagined in the light of day.

He looked to his left. Chiaroscuro flickers lit up Jensen’s profile, dancing along the bump on his nose and in-between his eyelashes, illuminating his freckles like fairy dust.

Jared leaned over and whispered in his ear. “It’s perfect.” Even in the black and white, he could see the apples of Jensen’s cheeks flush pink. Beautiful in Technicolor.

They watched, Jared tucked up under Jensen’s heavy arm, as the gay boys on celluloid pranced around, loving each other splendidly. They were heavenly creatures. But they weren’t the only ones.

Halfway through the movie, Jared got antsy. He fidgeted and squirmed in his seat, teenaged prick insistent in his jeans—horny and achy and not quite knowing how to tell Jensen about all the things he would let him do to him in dark theatres. How he would let him take his time, savour it. Open Jared up and push inside till he was beautifully fragmented.

He must’ve been breathing heavy, lost in his thoughts, because Jensen leaned in just then, pulling him close. Whispered hotly at Jared’s ear, “I can’t stop thinking about what you're gonna taste like…”

Blood rushed to Jared’s cock as Jensen ran his lips, the edges of his teeth, along the curve of his ear and down, till he was kissing and nibbling at his neck, desperate and wanton.

“Wanna make you come,” he breathed, hot and heavy, lost in the youthful perfume of Jared’s skin. “Will you let me?”

Jared exhaled, closed his eyes as those lips — those _perfect_ lips with their perfect words — alighted his skin, his blood, his heart.

“Yes. God, _yes_.”

He almost cried with angst and anticipation when Jensen, his master, his saving grace, slid off his chair and down onto his knees in front of him. When he worked shaky fingers at the button of Jared’s jeans, snicked the zipper down. Caught his honeybrown eyes just the same way he caught his honeypink cock, teenaged-new and never touched.

Not like this.

Not with Jensen’s hands on his thighs, pressing gently, pulling himself in and fastening his pretty mouth, sweet and sugary, on Jared’s dick, licking the salty bead of want from the leaky head before sliding in, wet lips at the base and tip nudging the back of an eager throat.

Jared didn’t know where to put his hands, so he just let them lay loosely at his sides until Jensen, sliding sweetly on and off his swollen cock, took them and placed them on his own head, guiding Jared to tug and pull in the rhythm he wanted. Teaching him the proper way to fuck a willing mouth. Not that Jared knew what he liked yet, other than the slippery silk of Jensen’s tongue suckling along the length of him. He wouldn’t last much longer. Couldn’t help himself.

It took one long look at Jensen, closing his eyes and sinking beautifully on Jared’s cock like it was a goddamn heroin popsicle, one long listen to the moans and hums and wet _slip-slop-slip_ of his pretty mouth, before Jared reached the edge. He pushed at Jensen’s head in warning, trying to slide him off. But it only made Jensen pull in closer, sinking down till he was deep-throating the boy.

“ _Unh, hnn, I’m gonna —_ “

Then Jensen _moaned_ , his mouth vibrating the whole of Jared’s cock, and it made him come like he’d never done before—hard and long and messy. A goddamn revelation. He grabbed hold of Jensen’s cropped hair and tugged, spilling hot seed into his mouth, down his throat, warming his belly.

Later, when Jensen kissed him, he would taste his own come on his tongue. It changed his whole world.

Made it worth living in.

~~~

_July 27 — Eight nights until the murder_

The next morning, Jared was all smiles and belly-flutters. His family thought he was up to something.

“Mom, Jared’s _smiling_ …” whined his sister, the brown-noser.

He reset his face and refocused his eyes once he realized he was being watched. Observed, inspected, scrutinized.

“What’s wrong with you?” asked step-monster, her lips pursing. She was highly suspicious of his change in mood — from sullen to lovesick. “Why’re you so happy?”

Jared shot her a glare, his eyebrows raising. “I’m plotting to kill the ice cream man.”

His sister screamed and started to cry. Her twin giggled. (She would turn out okay.) His mother rushed to soothe the sooky one.

“Don’t joke about things like that,” she hissed. “What if it came true? It might be your fault.”

Jared rolled his eyes. He was so sick of this family and their mindless proverbs and imbecilic aphorisms, snatched from thin air. He couldn’t wait until nightfall, when the world turned right-side up again. Where beautiful creatures whispered how perfect he was, how good he tasted, how lucky they were to have him.

_Toolshed. 2:15. Tonight._

The Imagineer overlords kept pretty close tabs on their sundown slaves, but not enough to police a midnight meeting, when gutsy grown-ups took fifteens with filthy teens.

Jared hadn’t showered since Jensen’s mouth had been on him.

~~~

Tennis courts and wading pools. That’s where mothers liked to take their crotch-monsters. Jared didn’t join them. (What was the point of a wading pool, anyway?) Instead, he lay on the lawn all day, basking like a kitten in the sun. Taking naps and nudging his achy cock against the grass, daring the neighbour porch-swingers to watch.

The weirdo boy from number five.

~~~

He couldn’t sleep that night, wired and electrified for moonlight trysts. Too curious about the gifts his special friend would bestow upon him.

Jared was eager to receive.

He watched the minutes tick by, slower than hell-burned molasses, until the LED numbers read 1:45. Took his time slipping out of bed and into his clothes, tugging at his hair till it fell just right — rumpled and ready. He made his way through the stone-silent house, out the back door and around to the toolshed, hidden from view. Pulled on the left-open padlock and stepped inside, into the dark, to meet his maker.

He didn’t have to wait long.

The sound of Jared’s breathy exhale filled the silence when he caught a glimpse of Jensen’s dark silhouette trudging up the path, a rake in his hand. Metal spikes and green-grey eyes glimmered in the moonlight as Jared watched, a secret gift hidden away. Blood rushed when Jensen stepped over the threshold.

“Hi,” Jared murmured, voice dripping with teenaged thirst.

Jensen nearly dropped the rake, so surprised and seduced by the boy’s eagerness. Jared had come early and come prepared. Like a good little pupil.

“Hey, you,” said Jensen, catching his breath. He grinned like a wolf at full moon. “Tryna give me a heart attack?”

“Yeah,” said Jared, silky and sweet. Twisted his torso to and fro, shy-like. “What will the neighbours think when they find us both dead in here?” Blood-burst hearts.

Jensen hung the rake on the rack. “They’ll know we belonged together. After life and forever.”

The heat in Jared’s cheeks tickled pink. He batted his boy-lashes as pretty as he dared. Because he was loved, and loved deathly. Could hear his own heart pounding in his ears when Jensen closed the shed door and bolted it shut from the inside. Felt him step closer in the dark, dead serious.

“You came,” said Jensen, a whisper in black, an admission of gratitude, of disbelief. For no one could be this lucky. “I’ve only got fifteen minutes and you came…”

“Yes,” hushed Jared, heart-hitching, romantic and brave. “I’d come for fifteen seconds.”

Jensen’s fingers teased at his jawline, ran his thumb over his lips. “You love me. Don’t you, boy?” He pushed his thumb inside Jared’s mouth, spreading skin and sweat and topsoil over his tongue.

“ _Mmm_ ,” Jared moaned, sucking on the tip. “God, yes, I love you.”

Jensen’s whole body shook, his ribcage trembling like a thousand sparrows had just spread their wings and taken flight. Those three little words changed him, took him out of himself.

Made him wild. Breathy and bestial.

He growled as he shoved Jared to his knees, bruising them on concrete. Held his head down with one hand and unzipped his coveralls with the other, stripping them off each brawny shoulder and pushing them down past boxer shorts.

Jared watched him from below, heart pounding and head dizzy with pain. Felt his stomach flip when he caught shadowy glimpses of torso and hips, hidden under a sweat-stained wife-beater. Got terrified and tongue-tied when Jensen pulled his dick out, pumping it a few times as he gazed down at his obedient boy.

Jared had never done this before. Didn’t mean he didn’t want to.

“Open your mouth,” husked Jensen, an edge to his voice and a devil-glint in his eyes.

Jared obeyed, half-afraid and wholly aroused, parting his lips and letting himself go slack. Let the silky slip of Jensen’s grown-up cock sink into his virgin mouth. Gagged when Jensen shoved it all the way in, a little too hard, a little too fast, a little too lust-ridden and lascivious. Like he’d been harbouring underage urges for far too long.

Fucked his teenaged mouth like he owned it.

“That’s it, baby,” purred Jensen, thrusting in and out of Jared’s mouth, rough-tugging on his head. “Relax your jaw. Breathe through your nose.” He forced himself down Jared’s throat like he was his equal. Like he could take it.

Jared loved it. Loved _him_.

Loved the rough claw of fingernails on his scalp. Loved the stretch at the corners of his mouth from the obscene thickness. Loved the way Jensen was gazing down at him, his eyes green-black and brutal and loving his boy-child with everything he had, raping Jared’s mouth like his favourite fucktoy.

“ _Take it, take it_ ,” grunted Jensen, an invocation, a devotion, a prayer.

Jared spluttered and choked with every thrust, every thud of cock-head bruising beautifully at his throat. But he kept going. He was half-hard in his jeans, being pummelled like this, and his heart-skyrocketed when, in no time at all, he felt the base of Jensen’s cock flutter and pulse. Alighted fire when Jensen murmured,

_“It’s coming, honey… It’s all for you. Swallow it. Take it all.”_

Jared relaxed his jaw and let Jensen’s salt-sweet seed spill all over his tongue, flood his mouth, down his throat. Hot, honey-head. Pre-babies. He gagged, throat tightening like Jensen’s balls, but strong hands held him to the hilt, humming, _good boy, good boy_.

At last, Jensen released him, pulled off so Jared could catch his breath. He sunk the rest of the way down, collapsing from his knees to the filthy toolshed floor, feeling utterly spent, beautifully used. He closed his eyes in a blackout daze until he felt two strong hands grip the front of his T-shirt, pull him to his feet, and fasten his swollen lips to Jensen’s mouth, kissing and licking the come from his boy-toy’s maw. Romantic and earth-moving.

The kiss made Jared’s knees buckle, but Jensen caught him, let him slump against his chest, hugged him tight and held him gently. Petted his head and whispered soft in his ear, “I’ll die without you, _forever-mine_.”

The most beautiful night murmurs.

~~~

_July 31 — Four nights until the murder_

It was everything after that. Intense, vulnerable, fast. Like the whip and thrash of Space Mountain. Hurtling through the night.

Jared spent the days dragging his feet around Main Street, scoffing at faux-Parisian teahouses and antiquated cobbler shops, counting the seconds till sundown. Every breath he took without Jensen felt like he was breathing through a straw, gasping, wheezing, drowning.

Then, at night, when green eyes would gaze adoringly at him and thick, slippery fingers would press inside of him, the air would flood Jared’s lungs again, making him high, light-headed and lovely. And Jensen would give and give and take and take until near all of him was used up, like an old paper bag. But instead of discarding him, Jensen would uncrinkle his tan skin, stretch and smooth his edges out again. Kiss him and tell him he meant everything to the unworthy man who’d been praying his whole life for such a gift. Who didn’t think he deserved it.

How Jared was _the one_.

The first time he saw Jensen’s apartment, it was early one morning after the nightshift. The witching hour, the final shades of blue-grey before the sunrise yellow-reds tinged the pavement.

Jensen led him to the outskirts of town, past the suburbs, past the undeveloped lots with bulldozer lawn gnomes, through boarded up fence holes and across railroad tracks until they reached the wrong side. Until there were rows of rickety apartment buildings with wrought-iron fire escapes and bars on basement windows. Down where the have-nots holed up. Jared followed his beloved into a crumbling brick complex, cat piss on the carpets and flickery fluorescent lights, up two flights of stairs to door number seven.

Jensen grinned sideways at him, pushed the door open. “Home sweet home.”

Jared scarcely had time to look around, for Jensen was already guiding him back towards the bed, stripping them both as they traded tongues and tumble-walked. Pinned Jared down and sucked his pretty dick until he made those pornographic kitten mewls. That’s when Jensen shoved his legs up and folded him over, tongue-lapping at his tender spot. Licking and sucking at virgin boy-pussy.

“ _Hnnnn_ ,” Jared whinnied, coltish and untamed, as Jensen opened him up, pushing his tongue past the tight muscle-ring and sliding inside the impossibly soft pink. Tasting like cotton-candy heaven.

Jensen couldn’t wait for the day when he could shove his dick up there and colour him white.

~~~

Two orgasms later and Jared was finally given a breather to look around the one-room studio. He craned his neck to scan the space, careful not to disturb Jensen, who was gently dozing on his chest.

It was a neat place. There was a little kitchenette with mismatched dishes in the drying rack and a small corner for entertainment, furnished with a couch and a television and shelves upon shelves of CDs and VHS tapes. By far the most spacious section was the one they currently occupied — the double bed took up half the living space, with a little bathroom and closet off to the side. It was modest, with scratches on the wood floors and nail holes in the walls, posters of grunge bands and dirty work boots by the door. It looked lived in.

It felt like _home_.

He smoothed his fingertips through Jensen’s hair, massaging little love bands into his scalp. Smiled when he heard Jensen’s dreamy sigh and felt the warm puff of breath tickle his ribcage as he curled up against Jared’s side like a kitten, purring and petted sweetly. Jared shifted to face him, wrapping his arms around his beautiful groundskeeper and drawing him into his chest, protecting him. Keeping him safe.

“ _Love you_ ,” whispered Jared against his sweet-smelling hair. He kissed his head gently.

“ _Mmmm_ ,” hummed Jensen, worn out and bone-tired from a night of repainting, repaving, and rearranging Jared’s insides.

They drifted to sleep in each other’s arms, knowing they would meet again in dreams.

~~~

_Shit._

Jared knew before he woke up. He’d really gone and done it this time.

_Shit, shit, shit._

Stupidly, he’d fallen asleep, curled under the drowsy weight of his beloved, well past the sunrise and straight through mid-morning.

“Fuck, Jen, wake up.” He nudged at his sweetheart’s shoulder, prompting a sleepy _ssmmhht_ sound from the great hulk of a man currently nestled against his rail-thin ribcage.

Jared nudged him again, shook him a little. “Jen, please. I fell asleep. I’m _late_.”

Jensen groaned, nuzzled his nose into Jared’s collarbone. “Late for what?”

 _Late for what_. Good question. And one Jared couldn’t quite answer. But the thing about being sixteen and, well, _trouble_ , was that there didn’t really need to be anything to be late _to_ for moms and dads to freak out. Teenaged boys missing from their beds was plenty.

“I’m _dead_ ,” said Jared, shaking his head and laughing mirthlessly at how much step-monster must be seething. If it had been one of the twins, she’d already have their faces on milk cartons. “They’ll kill me.”

Jensen kissed up the crook of his neck, shifted so his mid-sleep stiffy rubbed against Jared’s thigh. “Can’t kill you if you’re already dead, sweetheart…” He sucked a mark under Jared’s jawbone and licked it tender. Got vampire blood lust. “Better stay with me. I’ll fix you up real nice. Make you pretty for the funeral.”

“You’d fuck me on the embalming table,” breathed Jared, eyes rolling back when Jensen’s hand found his stiffening dick and fist-fucked the head.

“Course I would,” hummed Jensen, his other hand dipping lower. “You’d let me do whatever I wanted.” He slicked his finger with his own pre-cum and circled around Jared’s hole before sliding inside.

“ _Ohh_ ,” moaned Jared, little teenaged grunts at the strange and wonderful penetration. Thick fingers, slick innards. The breaching of bodies and crossing of hearts.

Jensen rutted against Jared’s thigh and breathed against his neck, half-sleep kisses and lazy lip drags, sleek finger-fucks in boy-cunts.

“I want you to remember this feeling,” he whispered against Jared’s neck, biting ears, cheeks, lips. “Tonight I’m gonna fuck that ass for real.”

Jared’s stomach flipped and his dick watered, spilling honey-milk all over Jensen’s fist, virgin ass clenching around fat fingers, knowing half the boys his age would never know how it felt to be touched like this, or to love someone so completely.

Jensen smiled, wiped the jizz on his sheets and placed a guiding hand on Jared’s head, eased him down until wet boy-lips engulfed his swollen cock.

“Take care of daddy before you leave.”

~~~

Jared was in deep shit.

“Where have you _been_?” squealed his step-mother, relieved and raging when Jared strolled through the front door of number five at two in the afternoon. He was ten minutes late for the arrival of his father, who’d driven home from work to help look for his missing idiot.

Jared hadn’t been missing _them_ at all.

“What the hell is your problem?” bellowed his father, stepping to him and spitting vitriol for making his wooden wife worry. “You think it’s funny to pull this shit?”

“ _No_ ,” said Jared, dripping with sarcasm, a strange, sadistic grin at the come-stained corners of his mouth. “I think it’s _deadly serious_.”

There was a finger in his face. “Cut it out, Jared, or _so help me God…_ ”

Jared gave a short, mirthless laugh. “So help me God _what_? You haven’t done _shit_ since Mom died and _hckk —“_

There were father-fingers on his throat and a fist in his face as he was shoved back into the wall. Jared’s pupils flared, fear and fragility alive in them as he watched the blaze of fury beneath his father’s greying eyes. They stood there, unmoving, for a moment, until the fist unclenched and his father backed off, calmed down. Released his choke hold.

Jared collapsed against the wall, trying to catch his breath. He touched the fingerprints at his throat. They were nothing like the other fingers that’d been on him that morning. Nimble and nice fingers. Ones whose harm he welcomed with open arms and open hearts.

Still, as he rubbed at his neck, he held eyes with his trembling father, watching him seethe. It was more emotion he’d seen from the man in years. The first time he’d ever laid a hand on him. Step-mother whimpered in the background.

“Get your ass to your room,” he said quietly. “And don’t even _think_ about coming out until I say.”

Jared’s lip quivered. He was stuck — sixteen and servile. With stair-climbing sneakers and solemn spirits.

He trudged along the upstairs hall. Locked himself in his tower and prayed, under penalty of death, for a star-crossed lover.

~~~

_August 3 — One night until the murder_

Jared never had to wait too long.

At a quarter past three AM, he’d moved from his window to his bed and back again, pacing and pining for his Prince Charming. At three seventeen, he smiled at a bow-legged shadow moving up the path. He opened his bedroom window.

Jensen gazed up at him like he gazed up at the stars, faraway, lonely, and twinkling. “You stuck?”

“ _Trapped_ ,” Jared hushed back, the gentle wind carrying his whisper to Jensen’s lips. “I can’t leave. My Dad’s sleeping in a chair by the back door.”

Jensen pursed his lips. It was a dangerous truth, Jared knew, that Jensen would stop at nothing to rescue his Rapunzel, even slitting the throats of sleeping giants. So Jared was relieved when his saviour settled on a softer solution, went round to the toolshed and unfastened the padlock, disappeared inside until he re-emerged with an extendable ladder. He clicked it into place, propped it up against the pastel pink siding.

Jared grinned as Jensen started to climb. “You’re insane.”

“Certifiable,” he replied, reaching the top as quick as a wink. He leaned his dusty elbows on the windowsill and batted those moonlit eyes. “You’re beautiful.” Leaned in and kissed Jared through the window pane. Sweet, not quite chaste.

Jared blushed, his blood rushing south. “Come inside.” He grabbed Jensen by the arms and helped him through the window.

Once they were both upright again, Jared waved a hand and whispered, “This is my room. Duh.”

Jensen nodded, slipped off his stompy work boots and tip-toed around the floorboards. He took a minute to look around at Jared’s knick-knacks — piles of grunge rock CDs, torn and haggard notebooks with scribbles on the covers, posters of Kurt Cobain and Courtney Love.

“You play soccer?” said Jensen, raising his eyebrows at Jared’s old participation trophies, tucked away, gathering dust.

“Played,” said Jared, embarrassed. “I don’t anymore.”

Jensen grinned, touched the little bronze boy with his fingertip and eyed Jared up and down. “I can picture you in short-shorts and shinguards…”

“Shut up,” Jared whined, his cheeks pinking. Crossed his arms over his chest as Jensen sidled up to him.

“Little cleats and knobby-knees,” he hummed, lips hovering over Jared’s. “Sexy as hell.” Kissed him deep and loving, pressed a warm palm to the small of his back. Made Jared’s eyelashes flutter.

He reached for the zipper on Jensen’s coveralls and pulled it slowly down. It was only faintly filth-ridden tonight, he hadn’t pulled a full shift yet. “Won’t someone notice you’re gone?” Jared rasped, lust-ridden. Anticipatory.

Jensen took Jared’s hand and tucked it inside his coveralls, held it against his swollen cock. Rubbed him up and down. “Let them find me like this…”

Jared trembled, kissed his lips as he palmed Jensen’s dick, over boxers and underneath, soft pink skin, hard as rock.

They helped each other out of their clothing, letting it quietly fall to the floor. Helped each other into the double bed, between faded _Star Wars_ sheets. Helped work each other open with fingers and tongues and Jared’s secret jar of coconut oil for lube.

“You like to touch yourself in this bed?” whispered Jensen, fistful of slick fucking furious over boy-cock.

“Y-yeah,” said Jared, at the mercy of Jensen’s grip.

“You do it real messy like this?” _Slip, slip, slop_. “You think of me?”

“Yes, every time,” hushed Jared, eyes rolling back in his head with each slide of slippery fist. “I - I think of you fucking me.”

Once Jared was too-hard and leaky, Jensen kissed him sweetly on the cheek and whispered, rougher, “ _Turn over_.”

He helped Jared flip onto his belly, face pressed into the pillow and arms tucked underneath. Tried to relax as Jensen petted him, kissed a trail down his spine to the cleft of his ass. Shivered when Jensen dragged his tongue down the crack, nipping and biting at his cheeks.

Jared mewled and pushed his ass up, begging for it, as Jensen circled around the hole, swirled and prodded with pointed tongue and softened licks. Listened as Jensen hummed and moaned, muffled, into Jared’s sweet ass, kissing his hole like an undeserving mouth until he slid inside with silky licks and fervid French kisses.

He kept at it, worshipping his honey-child’s ass until Jared was sweating and shaking, his cock leaking pre-cum all over the bedsheets. Then, and only then, did Jensen crawl back up the length of him, press his body flat to his frame and wrap his arms under Jared’s stretched out body. Whispered hotly in his ear, “Remember what I said this morning? What I was gonna do?”

Jared breathed into the pillow, tried to turn his head to meet Jensen’s lips but couldn’t quite manage it, pinned down on his belly. “You were gonna f-fuck my ass…”

A smile at his ear, a low huff of laughter. “That’s right, baby boy.”

Jared was terrified and thrilled at once, knowing Jensen would surely go too hard, too fast, too much. It was everything Jared prayed for in darkened bedrooms during dick-wet daydreams. And everything he was afraid of.

He didn’t have much time to think, however, because Jensen was already breathing heavy at the back of Jared’s neck and rubbing his heavy cock wet with coconut oil. Sinful sounds. _Slip, slip, schlop_.

Jared’s heart skyrocketed when Jensen slid his palms behind his knees and maneuvered his Bambi legs so his knees were bent under him, ass in the air. He inhaled, a gasp of fear and eagerness, when he felt the wet nudge of cock-head against his hole. Spilled a blurt of pre-cum on the sheets when Jensen hummed,

“Tell me you love me, sweetheart. Please, tell me you love me.”

“I love you,” said Jared, muffled and breathless into the pillow. “ _I love you, forever._ ”

There was a breathy rasp and then Jensen, whole body quivering, eased into him, past the tight knot of muscle, stretching and sculpting his insides.

Jared clenched his eyes shut at the brutal burn, the gorgeous ache of fullness and of being complete. It hurt like Hell, his final resting place.

“ _Shhh_ ,” hissed Jensen at his ear, quieting youngling whimpers and mewls as he fucked himself in, slow and deep, bodies pressed together. He held Jared down, doggy-style and submissive under the smooth slide of his dick. “ _It’ll be over soon…_ ”

It hurt and it burned and he couldn’t move and it was everything he could’ve possibly imagined because it was with _him_. And Jared would do anything in the world to please him, to keep him, forever. He would submit under the slow, shallow drags in and out, Jensen speaking in tongues at his ear, nonsensical little _sweet sweet boys_ and _god forgive me pleases_ and _I won’t hurt you like he hurt mes_.

He would bite into the pillow under all of Jensen’s grunting and humping and clutching him so tight Jared thought his ribs might crack and puncture through his throbbing heart. Thought his own dick would be rubbed raw from rutting into the sheets until, finally, Jensen’s merciful hand crept under his belly and made a wet fist for Jared to fuck into.

With a final murmur of “ _Here it comes, honey. Gonna fill you up good,_ ” Jensen’s body wracked with orgasm, stutter-fucking into Jared and painting the pink white.

Jared, too, let himself spill into Jensen’s hand at the feeling of the warm, wet bursts of Jensen’s love coating his insides. He vowed that no one else would ever get to have him like this. It was too late, he was too far gone. He was Jensen’s through and through.

His happy ending.  
Ever more, ever after.

~~~

The sun was pinking over the horizon when Jensen climbed back out the bedroom window. Jared held him steady, gripping his arms as he planted his workbooks on one of the top ladder rungs. Belly-fluttered when Jensen leaned against the sill and kissed his lips. The sunrise painted his skin soft.

“Sometimes I wonder if you’re just a dream,” said Jensen, soft and careful. He brought Jared’s hand to his mouth and kissed it, touched his cheek with his fingertips. “I never want to wake up.”

Jared blushed, “I’m real.” He leaned into the palm of Jensen’s hand and nuzzled it. “I have scars to prove it.” The love bite on his neck ached as Jensen circled his thumb around it.

“My sweet, sweet boy,” he smiled. He leaned in and kissed Jared on the lips, sweet and chaste. Closed his eyes and whispered, “I don’t know how you love me…”

_With everything. With all that I am. With all I could never be._

“I’m yours,” he answered, lashes tickling Jensen’s cheeks as he planted soft kisses on them. “I’ll always be yours.”

Jared would remember the shudder against his lips forever.

A sudden slice of red sunlight rounded the edge of the house, painting everything blood-red, blinding their eyes.

“I have to go. I’ll miss check in.” Jensen kissed Jared once more, deep and sweet, before grinning and climbing down the ladder.

Jared watched, bathing in the crimson glow, as his prince quietly retracted the ladder and slid it back inside the toolshed. Went weak at the knees when those green eyes winked up from below, sending a wry smile his way. Made his head so dizzy that all Jared could do was sigh and sleepy-smile as he watched him walk away, down the empty sunrise streets in black coveralls and boots.

His stupor was interrupted, however, when a sudden movement caught the corner of his eye. The pulling shut of a sheer curtain. His eyes flashed to the next door neighbour’s upstairs window.

He stared for a moment, frozen in terror, until… _there_.

The peek of a prying eye. The horrified gape of a nosy neighbour.

Mrs. Nelson was standing there, half-hidden, with bulging eyes and rubberneck. She ducked back behind the curtain, out of sight.

Jared’s stomach dropped. His mouth went dry and his brain buzzed with fear and adrenaline.

_If she’s been watching the whole time… if she saw the ladder… Jensen climbing out the window… oh god, oh god, oh g—_

_BRINNNNG_.

The sound of the downstairs phone made Jared’s heart stop. He scrambled to his bedroom door and put his ear to it. After two more terrifying rings — _BRINNNNG, BRINNNNG_ — he heard his father’s feet scuffling from his sleeping chair to the kitchen. Heard the punishing echo of the receiver being picked up.

_Clk-click._

“Hello? … Oh, Mrs. Nelson … Yes, yes, I’m listening…”

Jared’s mouth went dry because, at that very moment, he knew Miss Next-Door-Nosybitch was telling his father _everything_ — how she saw a man twice Jared’s age climbing out his window, how they were kissing, how he was part of the nightshift. How depraved and illicit and illegal it was.

“You can’t be serious…” His father said in hushed tones. “One of the garbage men?”

Jared’s blood burned. It was now or never. There was nothing he could do but run.

With a burst of adrenaline he bolted through his bedroom door and into the hallway, leaving everything behind. His bare feet bounded down the hardwood stairs (skipping the last four), thumped across the main level towards the back door. Heard the voice of his father, hurrying to hang up the phone and pursue his son — _the victim, the abused, the molested._

Nobody would fucking understand.

So Jared ran.

He ran barefoot across the backyard, as fast as his legs would carry him. He hopped the fence and snagged his T-shirt on the chainlink, weaving in and out of wild bushes, discarded paint cans, nails and broken glass, his ravaged feet and sex-ridden body aching like hell. He didn’t care. The only thought that consumed him was that he had to get to Jensen. All he could do was cut through the secret service pathways he’d been shown during their nights together and hope to god he wasn’t too late.

At the edge of the downtown core, Jared finally spotted him scuffling along past _The Links_ golf shop, whistling even. He sprinted on cobblestones and grabbed Jensen by the sleeve.

“ _Come on,_ ” he urged, breathless and tugging.

Jensen jumped back, startled. “Jared? What the —“

“Someone saw us,” he wheezed, pulling desperately at Jensen’s arm. “My neighbour. She called my Dad.”

“ _Wha—_ ” Jensen’s eyes blazed. He bit his lip, unfocused gaze darting from side to side, quick thinking and panicked. “Come with me. I know a place.”

He followed Jensen through a few more back-alleys, twisting and turning. A left at the third trash can, a right at the burnt out fluorescent bulb stack, straight on till morning. Until they were out of the downtown, away from prying eyes, and stumbling quietly onto Idelwylde Crescent.

They crept through backyards, careful to keep themselves in the shadows of trees and shrubbery. The houses were nicer here. Even nicer than Jared’s. These were _mansions_. Rich people palaces. Plantation-style, with fountains and self-cleaning jacuzzis and master bedroom balconies. Colonnaded porches and neo-classical windows. He followed Jensen until they reached the end of the street, crept alongside a federal-style home and slipped onto the back porch.

Jensen pulled a keyring from his back pocket, one much smaller than his official set. These keys, Jared imagined, were procured through less than honest means. Hands shaking, Jensen grasped an old brass key and inserted it into the lock. It clicked open and they stepped inside.

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

“Shit,” said Jensen, moving quickly to the keypad on the wall. The alarm system. He opened the little plastic door and took a breath. “ _Please, please, please_ …” He keyed in a six-digit sequence.

Jared held his breath, heart thumping, head spinning.

_Be-be-beep!_

The beeping stopped and the keypad lit green.

“Oh, thank god,” breathed Jensen, exhaling in relief. He closed and locked the back door and ushered Jared further inside.

“Where are we?” he asked, watching as Jensen crept through the living room, peering carefully out of the windows. The sun was starting to really rise now, a glowing red orb over the horizon.

“Bella Guardia,” said Jensen softly. “An old house I took care of last year. The family only visits for Christmas and Easter.”

“Good thing they’re too stupid to change their security code.”

“Yeah, good thing,” he huffed. “Here, come help me with these curtains.”

They spent a few minutes scouring the house, shutting any curtains they could find, staying close to the centre of rooms, away from prying eyes. After they’d finished, they stood in the middle of the grand living room and just stared at each other.

For the first time since Jared had met him, Jensen looked truly afraid. His eyes were wide with fear, vulnerability. Inevitability.

Jared closed the space between them and snaked his skinny arms around Jensen’s waist, pulling him close. “It’s okay,” he purred, his voice quiet against Jensen’s chest. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

Jensen lowered his head and pressed his lips to the top of Jared’s head, humming into his soft hair. “No, it won’t,” he whispered with finality. Without hope.

Tears welled up in Jared’s eyes because, deep down, he knew Jensen was right.

It was destiny. That Jensen would be caught, questioned, incarcerated. Lambasted by the media, by people with fire and pitchforks. Thrown in a high-security prison with the rest of the child rapists. Left to the system. Left for dead. Left _him_.

That’s the moment Jared decided. That he made up his mind. It all made easy sense. That the only inevitability was that they would spend forever together — that no judge or jury or armchair psychologist could define them, could stop them.

Their love was eternal, forevermore.

And so too would be their bones.

~~~

_August 4 — Night of the murder_

It was their last day on earth and they spent it wise and luxurious. They laid for hours under shadows of grand pianos, soaking in magnificent clawfoot bathtubs, tangled up in one-thousand thread count sheets. There were police sirens and amber alerts ringing in their ears, but they barely noticed them anymore. Because under the sweet cover of dusk, when day turned to night and the stars crossed, they only existed for each other.

They would live and die together.

Jensen sighed, dreamy, as the last sliver of sun slipped below the horizon. Gazed into his baby’s eyes with adult adoration.

Jared bit his bottom lip, sucked shyly into his mouth. Felt the twinkle and burn of bright green eyes, searing his skin. Whispered, “Is it time?”

Lids heavy and lips wet, Jensen brushed his mouth against Jared’s cheek and breathed, “Yes.” Kissed him on the forehead and pushed up off the bed, trod careful and naked to the ensuite bathroom and its well stocked pharmacy. Pulled a bottle of hydrocodone from the medicine cabinet. Shook the pills twice. There were enough to tranquilize two elephants in the room.

Enough to euthanize his bleeding heart.

Jared joined him at the mirror, cradling him from behind, skinny arms wrapped around his middle. Eyes peeking over his lover’s broad shoulder, his own heart pounding.

“I don’t —” Jensen’s breath hitched, his voice scratchy and scared. “I don’t want you to watch me do it.”

Jared ran his shaky lips along Jensen’s tricep, across his shoulder blades. “I’ll close my eyes,” he hushed, tightening his hold and soothing his face against the knots in Jensen’s spine.

“Okay,” whispered Jensen, a deep inhale. “Here we go.”

The sound of little pills sliding against plastic and into a warm palm made Jared’s eyes clench and burn. He fluttered little butterfly kisses along Jensen’s spine, tasting his own tears, as he felt his lover swallow, again, again. Two at a time, ten times over. Until the loud rush of tap water and the slurping from pill-free palms made his eyes snap open. The mirror revealed them red and watery, like blood.

Jensen turned around, wiping the water droplets from his trembling lips. Brushed a damp hand through Jared’s hair. “We… we don’t have much time.”

Jared’s lip quivered. He wouldn’t whimper. Wouldn’t cry. Soon they would have all the time in the world.

Soon they would have no need for it.

They fell into each other, kissing and caressing and fusing in frenetic desperation. Somehow they stumbled back to the four-poster bed and tangled up like only true lovers could. Tore and clawed at each other. Ravished and revered. A soft graze here, a biting bruise there. An apocalypse of sex and love and violence. Orgasmic catastrophe.

Jensen stretched Jared open with beautiful fingers, _one, two, three_ , his insides aching but eager. Indulged in the tender burn and craved for more. An imploring glare, a hushed _pleease inside_ , and Jared was full again, savouring the sweet slide of Jensen’s cock. Nudging at that perfect spot, _over and over_ , the thrust, the drag, the pummel.

“ _Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me_ ,” he summoned, biting into the meat of Jensen’s shoulder, tonguing at sweat and skin.

“So good for me, baby… so perfect… _mine_ …”

Jensen’s whole body was quivering, high on the adrenaline of the hydrocodone cocktail sloshing around in his belly and high on his boy-child’s love, whispers of sweet adoration and whimpered fuck-lust. Shoved his fingers into his sweetheart’s mouth and then wrapped them around the head of sweet-hard cock, jerking and fucking his Jared like he was the most precious and unbreakable thing in the world. Giving him everything.

“Jen…” rasped Jared, fighting to keep his lust-lidded eyes on Jensen as they rolled toward the back of his head. “N-not gonna last… I’m - I’m almost there…”

A choked sob fell from Jensen’s mouth, quieted quickly by burying his face in Jared’s neck. He cracked the knuckles on his free hand and slid it up his boy’s torso, fingering around his collarbone. Met Jared’s eyes one last time, questioning, reaffirming. “Are you — “

“ _Kiss me_ ,” whispered Jared, his eyes golden brown, tearful, and sparkling. A boy on the verge of life-ending orgasm, his lips quivering against Jensen’s final, frantic kisses.

“Always, my love.”

Jensen fucked into his sweetheart, a resplendent slide, and twisted his wrist on Jared’s cockhead until he felt the heavenly pulse. Let go and brought both hands to Jared’s throat and pressed, gentle at first, a languid ligature, listening to ragged inhales, desperate for air and asphyxiation. Strangled him lovingly, Jensen’s own tears spilling onto baby blue cheeks. They fucked each other through gasping breaths and tightening grips, splutters of tongue, the salt-smell of ejaculate and chaotic caterwauls. Both coming, both loving, both dying…

“ _Kill me_ …”

His last words. The most beautiful boy in the world.

Adorned with hypoxia kisses.

~~~

Jensen lay in the sweet stickiness of their love for some time after, the opium in his veins at long last making him dreamy, drowsy. He cradled Jared, lifeless and limp in his arms. Sobbed quietly in the crook of his neck, pressing kisses to paper-thin eyelids. Ran his thumb along angry finger bruises, purpling in the sunrise. It was mourning.

When he was groggy enough to know his own end was near, he lifted his loose limbs over Jared’s lifeless ones and lay atop his adolescent lover once more. This time, he aligned his own entrance with the dead boy’s dick, stiff and erect in the aftermath. _Rigor mortis_. Slid himself down until he was sheathed, his beloved inside him — a gift he had never willingly given. He carefully draped himself over Jared’s chest and rested there, closed his eyes and whispered,

“I love you, Jared. See you soon.”

~~~

Two hours later, the wail of police sirens and the flash of red and blue lit up their final resting place. For weeks, their tandem deaths gave the neighbours something to gossip about. And, months later, when the cops and coroners and columnists had exhausted all their avenues, they called this a grisly case of murder-suicide.

The Mickey Mouse municipality failed to recover. Concerned citizens called for criminal checks and surveillance cameras in the town square. The cinema crumbled in foreclosure. Families moved out, animals moved in.

As for Jared and Jensen, they met again in the happy ever after. Broken glass and bullet holes on their deathbed.

The Disney dream died in Celebration.  
But their love lived on in infamy.


End file.
